Concerning Letter Writing...
by narie the waitress
Summary: Three people, plus the Shadow Girls talk about writing letters and their life in general, more or less. Set before Utena arrives at Ohtori..


All disclaimers apply. Please, do not sue. Shoujo Kakumei Utena and all associated concepts belong to many people, among whom I do not count myself. First Utena fic. Be gentle.  
  
Concerning Letter Writing...  
narie_the_waitress  
  
*(little fishy)* is solely a separator, and has no strange hidden meaning. Alpha doesn't show up on ASCII coding.   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
"I wonder, I wonder... do you know what I wonder?"  
"To be honest, no, not really."   
"You don't know what I wonder? But... isn't there supposed to be a duel in the forest today? And a brave hero?"   
"I don't think so. I haven't heard anything about that lately."   
"Oh."   
"So... what is it that you wonder? We do need to keep this going, don't we?"   
"Oh! Yes, I guess so. So... what is it that I wonder, again?"   
"I don't know. You're supposed to tell me. You were supposed to tell me about 10 lines ago."   
"My... but I seem to have forgotten. I think it has slipped my mind. I wonder what it was."   
"So do I."   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
"You have to write to her, even if it's only once."   
"Why?" (Where did you get THAT idea from?)   
"Because she keeps on writing to you, yet you never answer her."   
"She writes to the two of us. You write back. That's good enough." (Matter-of-factly, of course)   
"No... she mails the letters to you. Why don't you write her back? What is so wrong about replying to a letter from someone who used to be your best friend?"   
"Nothing is... just, let it drop. I don't want to write to her." (Sigh, act offended.)   
"Only once. Because I'm asking you. Please."   
"Just once, then. Because you're asking me" (Proceed to hug him playfully, and run your fingers up and down his back, in the manner you know he loves.) 

  
  
*(little fishy)*

  
Get up, turn off the study's light, head towards the room; wait, there's light in the kitchen. Creep towards it, barefooted; doesn't really matter how loud your footsteps are. Your left knee joint pops loudly in the silky silence of the night, but you just keep on walking. Turn off the first light, then your left ankle cracks as well. Turn off the second light, turn around, head back, towards the room, - he's most likely asleep already, anyhow, in his own room – your feet over the cool smooth birch floor. Enter the room, first drawer on the right hand side: one candle, one box of matches. Set candle on table, light match, light candle. A button-up shirt lands on the table, away enough from the candle. Followed suit by a bra and a small skirt. A nightgown replaces the three of them over your body, and your bones keep on popping loudly. Head into bathroom, turn on no lights. Turn around, back to the room, first drawer on the right, another candle. Hold it close to the original one, just watch so that it doesn't melt, light it, carry it slowly, watching it flicker against the impassible breeze blowing through the open balcony door. Set it carefully on the thick marble slab surrounding the basin. Brush teeth (toothbrush, tap on, wet toothbrush, tap off, toothpaste, foam, tap on, no more foam, tap off), blow out candle. Happy birthday to any two year old toddler celebrating today. Brush hair, but not too much. Go back to the room, pick up almost empty PVC bottle with some lukewarm water on it. Pick up candle, go to kitchen, refill bottle. Slide balcony door closed; second drawer on the left: notebook; first drawer on the left: pen. Blow out other candle, once again, happy birthday wishes. Turn on bedside lamp, arrange pillows, land carelessly atop bed, look at alarm clock (1:36:10 AM, alarm on (9:36 AM, insistent beeping mode), snooze off), start writing:   
  


Sometimes I wonder why the hell you keep on writing to me, when it is obvious that I don't really care too much about your letters. It's been two years, and you send me the same pale, colorless letters every 2 months or so. I can't hope but to imagine that you have become something similar to them, loosing whatever made you special to that utter coldness of yours.   
  
Nevertheless, I'm going to make an exception this time around and write back to you..

Stop and think. That's not such a great way to begin a letter, but who really cares, anyhow? Reach instinctively for something that should be hanging around your neck, like _she_ would do, only you find a shapeless lump of (cheap) metal alloy made to resemble silver; he gave it to you, thinking that you liked the one _she_ had. Sit down again on bed, after having opened the balcony door. Think, write a couple of failed starts, cross them out, keep the first one. She deserves it… always so great, well, now she needs something to remind her that she's nothing much.   
  


Ne, Juri-san, do you still remember, when it was the three of us? Sometimes I just couldn't stand [...]   
  
And you know, I never loved him, but I took him away from you, because I did not want to be left out. 

What you're saying doesn't really matter. You'll never send her this letter, and you know that already, but you sit down to write it anyhow. Go through the whole ritual, with a carnivorous grin upon your face, writing, telling her the things she _deserves_ to hear, because, let's face it, Juri does suck completely.   
  
And since you're writing this letter only because he asked you to, because it's been two years now, and you've thoroughly ignored her for all that time, when it's clear that she still cares about you, well, you feel no real obligation to be nice to her. You took him from her because you wanted to, and you're certainly not sorry for what you've done.   
  
Let's see...   
  


Ne, Juri-san, it has been two years since we left, and you still write to me. I admire your dedication to keep our friendship alive, and the truth is, I have been too busy to write to you.

Good one. Two years, and you have been busy every single day? Well, that's the point, anyhow. Use an euphemism she should be able to see through, so that no one can reproach your writing but it still hurts her when she reads it.  
  


I have found this little snippet of time today, and decided that I would sit down and reply to all of your letters. It is good to hear that you are still fencing. Ichida has stopped, as we are too busy for him to have time to do that. It's truly a pity, he says, because now he has no chance whatsoever of defeating you.   
  
In any case, you will forgive me; I know this is a very short letter, but it is truly the best I can manage under the circumstances. I will hear from you soon, I trust.   
Shiori.

Well, that's not that bad, is it? Three paragraphs, two years. Good going. Good riddance, as well. Yes. Just send the letter, and hope that she takes a long while to write back, and then write another curt, short letter that says absolutely nothing asides from the fact that he is yours, and not hers, because you took him from her.   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
Leave the computer on tonight; it's downloading a video. Last month's fencing championship took place, through some odd quirk of fate, in Ohtori Gakuen. Some matches were filmed, some others weren't. This one is a semifinal, maybe... Tsuchiya Ruka versus some visitor. It's a long match, for a fencing one, anyhow, but Tsuchiya ends up winning in the end, and somehow makes it to the finals. Where he loses. It's rumored that it was his last match, that he is leaving (something about him being sick; maybe Juri knows more. Mental note: ask Juri about Tsuchiya-senpai next time around). Head towards room, all the while performing the daily nighttime routine (run hand through hair, twice; brush teeth; change into some sleep wear. Done. )   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
  
Next morning, Sunday. Nothing to do today expect simply sit around until Shiori wakes up and then see what she wants to do herself. Need to kill time before then. Up. Pace, pace, pace. Sit. Think. Read. Doodle. Check on computer. Well, then… the thing decided to work. Not that bad, for a fickle Pentium 33.   
  
Oh. Write to Juri. That should take up most of your time until Shiori gets up, and it's been a while since her last letter arrived. Yes, that would be nice, only there aren't any new things to tell her. Nothing has changed in the last two months.   
  
And besides, Juri probably loves Tsuchiya-senpai right now. She certainly did not love you. Shiori knew that, and Shiori had been Juri's best friend before you arrived, so she knew what she was talking about. Indeed. Juri is probably too busy with Tsuchiya-senpai to even consider your letters.   
  
That doesn't matter. She was a good fencer, but she was too cold inside. It never would have worked. And Shiori, now, she loves you. Even if she is not Juri, she is better than nothing. Because she does love you, and when she kisses you, you know that everything worked out for the best, for the three of you, because it never would have worked the other way.   
  
So just sit down and write a lovely, antiseptic letter to her.   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
  
Sit at desk, right after shower; hair's damp, dripping slowly down your back. Pull stationary out - blank paper with a small watermark, top right - find fountain pen, push errant lock of hair back into place, write the usual insignificant greetings that are expected of you, and then some simple anecdote, to fill up the page. The trick to writing letters is to be brief and make the anecdote less than a page, because otherwise you have to come up with a new one to fill that new page up.   
  


I am still fencing, oneesan. Tsuchiya-senpai and I practice almost every day, during most of the afternoon. There are also the usual fencing club meetings, but he and I practice afterwards as well; I do not understand why it is so frowned upon by you and otousan.  
  
Nevertheless, Tsuchiya-senpai will be leaving at the end of the month, and it is doubtful whether he will come back, and if he does; whether he will still be able to fence or not. He hasn't bothered to tell anyone yet what is going on, but I believe that it will make you happy to hear that he is leaving.

If one anecdote is not enough, find something else to talk about, something that doesn't require much conscious effort or thinking process and finish the tedious letter as soon as possible. Talk about the new middle schooler in the fencing club, Kaoru-san; talk about the upcoming Seitokai elections. Finish the letter with more polite greetings:  
  


I hope everything is going well with you too,   
Juri.

And add one delicate, flourished signature at the bottom left. Fold it neatly into thirds, slide it gently inside the envelope, lick the flap and seal it; write address on the front side, write return address on the backside. Find a stamp and place the letter in the pile that has already been written.   
  
Look at the remaining pile. No letter from her, certainly. It's been two years, and you should simply give up hope by now that she will write to you. Content yourself with his letters and reply to them, in the same fashion as above. There is nothing new to tell, because nothing ever changes. There is a locket hanging around your neck, and there is a picture inside that locket, and there are people who wonder, and people who don't care, and people who forget what it is that they are wondering. <  
  
But things stay the same, and nothing ever really changes. So you just write the same old letters and keep the same old thoughts to yourself, and wonder why people believe in miracles.   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
"Oh! I remember now!"   
"Do you? Not bad... only four pages late."   
"Oh, please... anyhow, I wonder why it is that people wonder."   
"That one's deep..."   
"I know! Isn't it great, though? Why do people wonder?"   
"Um... I'll have to think about that one."   
"But... we seem to have run out of pages."   
"Oh. Have we? I'll have to improvise, then."   
"I think so. This is not going to come out all that well, is it?"   
"Don't think so..."   
"I think we should stray off a tangent..."   
"So do I. That would be a good idea."   
"So, um, yes... do you know how to write letters?"   
"Do I what?"   
"Know how to write letters."   
  


*(little fishy)*

  
This story was NOT supposed to turn out like this, honestly. It wasn't, by any means, but I handwrote it at 1 AM while lying in bed, and, well, um, this is what turned out to be. It was supposed to be a little... something about a commonly forgotten tool. Not this strange thing. Criticism of any kind is welcome.   
  
Narie   
Brazil, Feb 13th, 2001.   
  
[bakanarie@hotmail.com][1] [  
www.envy.nu/bakanarie/][2]

   [1]: mailto:bakanarie@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.envy.nu/bakanarie/



End file.
